


All the Roads that Led to You

by Haruka_1224



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haruka_1224/pseuds/Haruka_1224
Summary: Lena Oxton had made many choices in her life, some of which seemed questionable, some of which she deeply regretted. Looking back, she realized that she would not change a single one of them for the world, because they had all led her along the road to the love of her life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the pacing doesn't feel too weird, I'm not very accustomed to this writing style. Do leave a comment if you have any, they really make my day.

Standing on the faded, crumbling steps to the Royal Air Force’s Flight Academy, young Lena Oxton took a deep, steadying breath. She was still two years under the qualifying age, nothing but a child who had devoured magazines and books about aircraft in her free time; what reason did the Academy have to make an exception and admit her early?

Logically, they had no choice but to – the ongoing Omnic Crisis had put pilots and soldiers alike on incredibly short supply, especially since they could no longer trust the legions of Omnic soldiers they had created. Pilots were being killed every single day as they carried out bombings on Omniums and Omnic strongholds, created distractions for civilian evacuations and flew bulky rescue aircraft into the thick of the fighting. The average lifespan of a British pilot was probably shorter than a hamster’s, a statistic incredibly off-putting to most people.

Obviously, “most people” did not include Lena, who would not let anything deter her from her lifelong dream of flying. So what if sixteen year olds were being sent to their deaths with less than three months of flight training?

Summoning all her courage, Lena marched into the building with the most serious expression she could muster, the application papers clutched tightly in her small hands. She would do whatever it could to show them how much this meant to her, how much she wanted to fly, even if it meant slicking down her gravity-defying brown spikes and reigning in her cheerful, free-spirited attitude.

“Aren’t you a little young, duck?” was the first thing the officer on duty said as he took the papers from her, smiling the way one would at a precocious child.

“I want to fly, sir,” she replied stubbornly.

“You do know that, if you fly, you most likely won’t see your 20th birthday?” he asked, leaning down to get a closer look at her. “Your parents okay with it?”

“I’m from the Children’s House, sir,” she explained, refusing to let her voice waver, “I have nothing to lose.”

The officer stared down at her scruffy, eager face and sighed, muttering to himself about stamping little kids’ tickets to hell. Unable to meet her eyes, he stamped the words _ACCEPTED_ in red ink across the front page of her papers before feeding them into a computer.

As the machine printed her military identity card, the man said, “I hope you don’t hate me for this, duck.”

“I won’t, promise,” she said with a winning smile, standing on tiptoes in an attempt to get a clearer glimpse of the machine.

Shaking his head, the man slid the still-warm card to her, “Are you absolutely sure of this?”

Grabbing the card like a six year old offered a piece of candy, Lena said, “Yes, sir!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oxton, Private Lena Oxton, report to the Commander’s Office ASAP!” a loud voice crackled through the base’s aging speakers, nearly making Lena jump out of her skin.

Abandoning the scraps that the military dared to call _dinner_ , Lena quietly made her way down the halls, unable to recognize most of the faces that she passed. Most of them were new recruits from the latest batch of 15 to 17 year olds that had graduated from the Academy, green around the gills and most likely the next to die. After all, no amount of practice could prepare you for dipping and diving 30,000 feet in the air with a bellyful of bombs while a half dozen tracer missiles are trying to blow you out of the sky.

“Oxton!” before she could even knock, the door swung open, nearly smashing her in the face. “I was just going to get you myself.”

What urgent matter could make the Commander too antsy to even wait two minutes for her to walk over from the mess hall? She hadn’t done anything wrong recently; she’d even been trying hard to work on her constant insubordination issues. Did yet another grumpy old bat complain because she blew up on him for sitting safely in his office acting like a bigshot while children died in the skies for their country?

“As you know,” he explained as he closed the door behind them, gesturing toward the old leather couch with its deathtrap of exposed springs, “You have an amazing track record and a mission success rate unlike any other. Two years’ worth of missions and you’ve failed barely five percent. You’ve pretty much come up with 75% of the maneuvers we teach to evade tracer missiles, and it’s even become your callsign. You have shown bravery, ingenuity and determination in the air, have a very positive attitude and your peers have little to no complaints about you, aside from _blimey, the kid talks almost as fast as she can fly!”_

Lena laughed at that, unable to help herself. It was pretty true, the other pilots could barely keep up with her in a conversation and often begged her to slow down to subhuman levels so that they could actual comprehend the words that were rocketing out of her mouth.

“The Royal Air Force’s Elite Alpha Unit have offered you a spot on their program,” he continued, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips as he watched her light up. “So has the famous international organization, Overwatch.”

“Overwatch?” Lena gasped, eyes bulging, “No way!”

She had heard a lot about them in the recent months, about their many rescue missions and shockingly effective offensives in various Omnic strongholds worldwide. It was nearly every soldier’s dream to enlist with them, and they were rumored to have the best minds, bodies and equipment the century had to offer.

Handing her a shiny tablet marked with the Overwatch logo, the Commander chuckled, “I take it you want Overwatch, then?”

“You bet your arse I do!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Tracer! I have been looking everywhere for you,” the heavy French accent told her who it was before she had even turned – Gérard Lacroix, one of her many superiors and a really cool guy who had shown her all his latest spygear when she first entered.

The urgency in his tone set her on edge, “Is something the matter?”

“Talon,” he replied grimly, a dark, frightening anger filling his eyes, not that she could blame him. Those bastards had shot his wife in the lung just two days ago, and if it weren’t for Doctor Ziegler – _Mercy_ – the woman would have died. “I have to leave immediately, but I don’t want Amélie to be alone. I know you haven’t spoken to her properly, but I would really appreciate if you helped me look after her.”

Struggling to contain the sudden surge of panic within her – she’d been crushing on Gérard’s very beautiful, sweet wife since the day they met, a few months back – Lena tried to make up an excuse. However, she realized, she was the only person not busy at the moment – Jack and Ana’s squads had both left on missions and weren’t due back til next week, Reinhardt’s had literally just been mobilized twenty minutes ago and Angela was swamped by the injuries of Amélie’s.

She couldn’t leave an injured woman alone, especially when her husband was out fighting the very monsters that shot her in the first place. Amélie would be worried sick, and might even drag her wounded arse to base just to wait for news of him.

“Sure, I’ll go keep her company,” she said lightly, giving him a thumbs up, “Your apartment, yeah?”

He nodded with a grateful smile, “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated because I am your superior.”

She laughed, gently shoving his shoulder, “Are you kidding me, Lacroix? I’m the kid with seven insubordination charges by day one! Of course I’m sure!”

 

* * *

 

 

Flopping over on the bright red loveseat of Watchpoint Beijing, Lena struggled to hold back a yawn. They had been sent as emergency backup for Gérard’s squad, who had gone off raiding a nearby Talon base, but everything was going smoothly and there had been absolutely nothing to do for the better part of two days. Lena could already feel her brain cells degenerating from the lack of stimulation.

Why couldn’t it have been Watchpoint Tokyo instead? There were games, tons of comics, and even retro arcade machines from back in the day stocked there for bored agents. All Beijing’s had were pretty Chinese paintings of pandas and pagodas, and a whole bunch of Chinese novels that Mei probably brought in before she headed to Antarctica.

“ _Cherie_ , you’re making me antsy just looking at you,” Amélie scolded, sitting on the loveseat next to Lena and offering her a mug of tea.

They had become close friends in the months that followed Lena’s attempt to babysit her, which ended up with a very wet cat and a permanently tea-stained carpet. Amélie had nearly busted her lung again laughing, heralding the start of a very beautiful (silly) friendship.

Taking the mug with a wordless sigh of gratitude, Lena whined, “I’m _bored_ , love.”

Amélie raised a perfect eyebrow, “Is my company that dull, _cherie_?”

“Course not!” she said indignantly, shooting upright so fast she nearly spilled hot tea over them both. “There’s just nothing to do but read, and I can’t read Mandarin for nuts!”

Amélie chuckled, wrapping an arm around Lena and pulling her close so she could whisper in her ear, “There’s a shooting range out back. Shall we see who can clear it the fastest?”

Trying to hide the growing blush on her cheeks from their proximity, Lena said, “Oh you’re on.”

Five minutes and 60 destroyed targets later, the two lay panting on the fake grass of the range, having agreed to call it a tie. Lena was a lot faster without her plane than Amélie had expected, though she probably should have guessed that a hyperactive energy ball like Lena would be a good runner. It also helped that Lena’s guns could output 40 bullets a second, while Amélie’s rifle could only hold 30 rounds and shoot up to 3 bullets a second -

Amélie suddenly leaned in, so close that their noses were brushing, putting an abrupt end to Lena’s thoughts. Her heart pounded wildly against her ribcage, as if demanding to be let out, and she was pretty sure Mei could hear it all the way at the end of the world.

“May I… kiss you?” Amélie asked.

Swallowing thickly, Lena replied, “Yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

“A _what_?!” Lena could hardly believe her ears – what the scientists were talking about sounded like some shit straight out of a sci-fi movie. Sure, they had perfected anti-grav technology and all, but…

“A time-skipping aircraft,” the head scientist, a balding old German by the name of Kendall repeated, “The Slipstream has been a secret project for many years, but is already almost complete. We merely need an experimental human pilot, and we believe that you are the best candidate. The only one worth considering, with a track record like that.”

In a deceptively casual tone, she asked, “So, what’s the chance of me dying, loves?”

“As with any other experimental science, it comes with many dangers, especially since we are breaking the laws of physics,” another scientist, a curly-haired Korean man, explained, “However, every test we have had with a living organism has been successful, from plants to monkeys.”

“Winston wouldn’t have liked that,” she mumbled under her breath, making some of them chuckle.

Her mind was whirring, adrenalin pounding through her veins – she would _love_ to be the first to fly a new aircraft, as long as it wasn’t some crappy autopilot anti-grav that didn’t require an ounce of skill. The Slipstream sounded like the perfect challenge and a great joyride, an aircraft faster than any other because it was literally always ahead of time.

“We understand if you need time to think, Trace-”

Cutting him off, she said, “I’ll do it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Disoriented and overwhelmed, Lena blinked as she slowly opened her eyes, unused to the feeling of clothes against her back, of the drip in her arm, of the blanket over her legs, of… being in her body. How long had it been since the Slipstream malfunctioned, sending her whizzing through space-time until her molecules disassociated?

By her bedside was Doctor Ziegler, a frown marring her pretty face, two high-ranking Overwatch agents by her side.

“Tracer,” one of them began, shuddering visibly as Doctor Ziegler glared icily at him, obviously displeased at having been ordered to grant them entry into Lena’s room. “While the Slipstream has failed, you have been granted the powers we had dreamed for that craft. We have prepared specialized training for you to get used to your new abilities, and expect to see you in training tomorrow.”

“Tomo-” Doctor Ziegler exploded, anger smoldering in her blue eyes as the other agent called her name warningly – it was Jack, his face marred by oversized sunglasses, most probably to shield him from her killer glare.

Lena stared mutely back at them, her brain struggling to comprehend if they truly had the audacity to ask what she thought they were asking of her. How could they expect continued service from her when they had left her to die, forbidding anyone from mentioning the Slipstream project and making up the details of her death? How dare they demand she fight for them when it was Winston, not them, who had fought time and space itself for her?

How could they ask anything of her at all, when they had abandoned the woman she loved? Even Doctor Ziegler, who would stop at nothing to save a life, thought that what Talon made Amélie into should be killed. But, if she exploded and left, what else could she do? The RAF wouldn’t take her back, not with the strange time-machine between her breasts, and she needed Winston and his extensive laboratory to maintain it.

Also, if she left, how could she get any information about Talon, and most importantly, about Amélie? No, she had to stay; it was the only option she had to keep whatever remained of her shattered life.

Putting on her usual, cheek-straining grin, she said, “Yes sir.”

 

* * *

 

The shutdown of Overwatch was a rather bittersweet moment for Lena – she was happy that the bastards who were running the organization were losing their jobs, but so were her friends, and she still hadn’t found hide or hair of Amélie and now she would have no more opportunities.

Talon had gone into very impressive hiding, and she wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous person thanks to the blue searchlight between her breasts. She would have to find other methods to get information about them now, probably return to the streets she fought and stole in back in England and enlist the help of her old buddies.

As they shared their brief goodbyes, Lena hugging practically everyone she could get her hands on, Winston gently tapped her shoulder and gestured for her to follow him.

When they were out of everyone else’s earshot, Winston leaned closer and whispered, “If I ever do an emergency reactivation of Overwatch, will you please return? I won’t include those old coots, don’t worry – field agents only.”

She smiled, looping an arm over the huge gorilla’s shoulder, “Course I will!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Lena, are you out of your mind?” Hana exploded, much to everyone’s surprise. They had expected Angela to be the first to lose it; she was like the mother of the reformed Overwatch, worrying too much about everyone’s wellbeing. “Widowmaker tried to kill you!”

“If she did, I’d be dead,” Lena replied stubbornly, clenching her fists. “Look, I told you not to ask for help or approval. I just wanted you to know where I’ll be going.”

Jesse protested immediately, taking his cigar out of his mouth for once, “Lena, you can’t expect us to let you traipse off into Talon territory alone!”

“I don’t need your permission, I’m an adult!”

Ana sighed, lifting her eyepatch to reveal the ruined flesh that had once been her eye, asking Lena if she was absolutely sure that she wanted to face the bitch that did this to her, if she was certain that Widowmaker wasn’t just going to lure her into a trap, shoot her and hang her Accelerator like a trophy on her mantelpiece. Amélie was a great woman, no one here was denying that, but Widowmaker wasn’t the same person.

Before Lena could reply, Angela interrupted, “Are you absolutely sure of this, Lena?”

“Amélie is still in there,” she replied, “Of course I am.”

With a sigh, Angela said, “Is that your final decision?”

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sitting outside the operating theater, stained in blood that was mostly not her own, Lena stared numbly at the door. Just thirty minutes ago she had stumbled in, an unconscious, bleeding Widowmaker in her arms, screaming for help like a madman as the team surrounded her with worried gasps.

_She’ll be fine now,_ Jesse had reassured her, _She’s with Angela, and no one ever dies under her._

Lena sincerely hoped so; Angela hadn’t look too thrilled about having to treat one of Talon’s most infamous agents, especially since she needed emergency brain and heart surgery on top of the various bullet holes that had been put in her.

When Widowmaker had turned her gun on Talon, the chip in her brain had exploded, and if this were any other doctor but Angela, there would be no hope of her making it. With Angela, though… she would probably wake up in a few days without any evidence of this day ever happening – physically, of course. Mentally… no one could be sure, since neural reconditioning of that extent had never been done before.

The sound of metallic legs hitting the floor made Lena look up as Fareeha entered the waiting room, her expression solemn.

Gesturing to the operating theater, she asked, “Are you willing to dedicate yourself to whatever outcome emerges from that door, whether she’s a vegetable or the same dangerous assassin from before?”

“I am,” she said, her voice hoarse, “I’ve made this decision years ago.”

 

* * *

 

 

The months that passed had been kind, and Amélie’s therapy had made more progress than anyone had ever hoped for. Her skin color had returned, as well as most of her old, playful self, though she still had gaping holes in her memory Angela said she most likely would never recover. However, there were some things that Angela knew she would never be able to reverse, the damage Talon had done to her brain too extensive. Amélie was colder and more distant than she used to be, harder to get along with, and killing still brought her a worrying thrill and was pretty much a requirement to keep her under control.

Fortunately, as an Overwatch agent, she had her fair share of heads to shoot and blood to splatter, and medication did wonders to contain the incessant, bloodthirsty voices in her head. When peace came and the targets disappeared, however… they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

“Oh come on!” Jesse whined, bringing Lena out of her thoughts.

Smiling serenely – which was pretty much his default expression – Zenyatta raked in the brightly colored poker chips as the American slammed his head against the table. The phrase _once bitten, twice shy_ was something that never applied to the cowboy, who had been losing credits to the Omnic monk on a nightly basis with all those bad poker games. He probably didn’t have money to buy cigars anymore, which would explain why he hadn’t smoked in two days.

“He never learns, does he?” Amélie asked curiously, cuddled up against her side and mostly ignoring the Disney movie Hana and Lúcio had put up on the break room telly – _The Lion King_.

Shaking her head, Lena replied, “He’s not exactly very bright, love.”

“I heard that!” Jesse yelled, his voice muffled by the table, making everyone laugh.

It was Jack’s idea, strangely enough, to start a weekly bonding night, though it usually ended with the kids watching Disney movies, the adults chatting in their corner (or in Angela and Fareeha’s case, snogging in their corner) and the elderly folk grumbling to each other about their wayward “grandkids” with fond smiles on their faces. Still, it was a pretty fun idea, and Overwatch felt much more like a home than it ever had before.

On the screen, Timon had just staring singing _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ when a strange, expectant grin crossed Hana’s face. The room suddenly quietened, everyone’s attention moving toward the couch, and Lena was about to ask what was going on when Amélie slid off the couch onto one knee.

_Oh._

“Will you annoy me for the rest of my life, _cherie_?” she asked warmly as she pulled a ring out of her pocket, her eyes glowing like a thousand stars.

“Oi…” Lena mumbled, blushing, as the rest of the room laughed, Jesse saying that she’d happily do it without an invitation.

“Marry me.”

Tears filled Lena’s eyes as she flung her arms around Amélie’s neck.

“Yes!”


End file.
